


Lexa Writes

by LeksaLover



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeksaLover/pseuds/LeksaLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lexa learns to write, and writes (very cute) things about the only thing she seems to think about- Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lexa Writes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke ste the hodnes gon ai sonraun= Clarke is the love of my life.

Clarke taught me how to write, but as she can only write in the language of her people, I am limited to my own estimations of what spellings could be if Trigedasleng were to be written. Such as the name of the tongue of my people, just there. I reckon that as Heda, whatever I come up with should be universal, so it shouldn't matter anyways as no one should question my decisions. I've gotten off topic now.

Clarke is an artist, she somehow captures the world around her and puts it to paper so that it is hers to keep. Truthfully, it didn't make sense to me at first, because if you want to see the world you go outside and look, it isn't going anywhere. She explained to me that it can be passed down like history, and about how the world slowly changes, and how the world is seen differently through different people's eyes. The first time I caught her sketching me, I began to understand.

Clarke sees me differently than I see myself. To her I am soft eyes, glowing cheeks, and a hardened jaw. To her I am strong enough to be weak, to her being weak isn't wrong, to her I am perfect and vibrant and alive.

Clarke has inspired me to want to capture my own views of the world, but I am unskilled with her charcoal and her brush. The mixing of the paints baffles me so that I am left flustered and unable to quite do justice to the world around me. If Clarke is the Commander of Death, she is also the Commander of Life, because she breathes life into her art as she creates worlds that are all her own. I want to be able to show everyone, and especially Clarke, what she is to me.

Clarke is beautiful and strong, but also maintains a kind of childlike curiosity that is at once endearing and exasperating. If she would just grow up, perhaps she would not get in trouble so much. If she would just grow up, perhaps I would not love her so much.

Clarke is soft, like a pillow that lulls you to sleep with promises of comfort and protection. She is fiercely loyal to her people, which often makes me jealous, because if she were that loyal to me we would be free. When she bowed to me to bring Skaikru into the alliance, I was relieved and happy, but also... incomplete. I wouldn't have her full loyalty until she knew she had mine. Bowing to Clarke and swearing my allegiance to her was the easiest thing I have ever done. Sinking into that position on my knees may have been awkward for my body, but it was home for my heart. Knowing that I would never have to choose between her or my people eased my pain. Clarke and her people were my people. Clarke is my people.

Clarke... Clarke is a mystery. She thinks I don't know of her fling with the trader in Trikru. I do, though, and because of my knowledge of it, I am scared that she might not love me, that every look, and smile, and gesture means something different to her than to me. Because of my knowledge of it, I am scared that she does love me. She fled to the arms of a woman, for example, instead of a man, whom she had consorted with heretofore. Clarke is a mystery because she doesn't seem to know that I am still waiting for her, even after I left her on the mountain.

I have always been waiting for Clarke, and now I no longer have to.

Clarke ste the hodnes gon ai sonraun.


	2. Clarke Rides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is still writing about the only thing she thinks about- Clarke

Clarke is to learn to ride for real today. She is to choose one of our intelligent warhorses to ride. She seems apprehensive about it, although I have overheard her attendant Octavia trying to reassure her. Clarke doesn’t like it when I use the word “attendant”- she prefers “friend”. When I tell her that it is a leader’s curse to stay alone, she just looks at me as if she knows I am in denial of my own affections for her. Clarke chooses to have friends in spite of the danger, and I must respect her decision. Clarke's friend, Octavia, tries to reassure her and remind her that she has, in fact, ridden before, before our fight with the Mountain Men. I know that Clarke’s anxiousness is justified, since our warhorses have a distrust of all but their intended riders. Some of our warriors never find the right horse, and settle for others. I wonder if Clarke will have a horse here, of if her being skaikru excludes her.

Clarke is a natural with people- somehow she convinced Anya to trust her, a feat that I still cannot fathom, although I believe Clarke with all my heart. Clarke may keep secrets from some of her people, but she has never lied to me. I am terrified of what it would do to me if one day she does lie to me. It is amusing to me to see Clarke struggling to connect with the horses, since I never thought I would see the day that the Wanheda struggled with learning something. I think she caught me smiling at her, because she smiled at me. Does that mean she likes me, or is it friendly?

Clarke doesn’t know that I love her- she doesn’t know that my heart beats faster when I see her, she doesn’t know that despite her teaching me to write the entire language of her people, the only thing I can say is how much I love her, in different ways. I write about how beautiful she is, and how much I admire her spirit, and how amazed I am at how she became the leader of her people, even when the adults considered themselves led by her mother. 

Clarke doesn’t know that I write because I want to be able to capture her image in my mind and on this paper like she captures images on paper. Clarke doesn’t know that she is my inspiration and motivation for everything, Clarke doesn’t know about the way I watch her, making sure she will be alright.

Clarke doesn’t know how to ride a real horse. She doesn’t yet understand that to ride a horse is to communicate with the horse, that it is a two-way relationship where both parties need to understand one another’s thoughts, motivations, and feelings. Or maybe she does. It would be foolish to underestimate her in any circumstance. 

Clarke makes me jealous of a horse, because she pats the horse and praises him and strokes his hair, braiding it into small strands just above the saddlehorn when the instructor goes off on an uninteresting tangent. I imagine what it would be like to have Clarke braiding my hair absentmindedly, her fingers moving smoothly in and out and in between the strands of hair mesmerizingly and soothingly. I find myself staring at her more and more lately, but because I am the commander and I do what I want, I let myself continue to do so and make no efforts to try to find something else to look at.

Clarke doesn’t notice. She has a single-minded focus which allows her only to focus on the task at hand. In my private training sessions with Aden, he tells me that every time I look down, Clarke looks up, but I don’t believe him. I warn him that childish imaginations are not befitting of a commander. I tell myself the same thing every morning when I wake from dreaming of Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't originally planned on writing more to this, but because I ended up getting so many views and some positive comments, I've decided to continue workiing on this whenever i get the inspiration


	3. A Fallen Notebook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the which Lexa realizes she should make a move.

Clarke and I went riding today, but something happened. My notebook fell out of my armor when I mounted my horse, and opened on the ground. I wanted to stop Clarke from picking it up, but I felt it would bring more attention to what I didn’t want her to know. My insides were contracting with fear when I began to wonder what I was so afraid of. Clarke has told me repeatedly that feelings are nothing to be ashamed of, and if I truly loved her and respected her, I would respect her sentiments. I am going to have to learn to accept the fact, internally and externally, that my love for Clarke is not a weakness. 

Clarke hands me my notebook, and smiles brightly at me, “You’ve been writing?” Her voice is so bright when she smiles and her happiness is so distracting that I am nearly too distracted to register her words. I answer with the only thing I can, “Yes.” I watch as she closes the notebook slowly, and my muscles relax when she hands the notebook up to me. I can’t help but notice the way she slides her hand against mine unnecessarily when she does. 

Clarke ste the hodnes gon ai sonraun. I know it is more true now than ever. 

Clarke has something about her that makes me want to tell her everything, and yet I don’t know how. Part of me wants to tell her in person, and another part of me is fearful, and wants to tell her in writing. Maybe I could leave this notebook where she could find it? Now it is even more clear what she has done to me- I have started pouring my soul into a notebook, asking it questions as if it can answer me, or show me the way to what I desire most. 

Clarke is the only one with the answers for me. On the rest of our ride, she told me more about her life in the sky, life on what she calls the Ark. I was more than willing to reciprocate with stories of my own childhood, but Clarke seemed to just need to talk, so I just listened. She told me of how her mother had caused the death of her father. I was disgusted- there was no greater bond between my people than that of lovers- partners, especially when they chose to raise a child together. Then I was reminded of how I left Clarke on the mountain, and winced. I may understand why Abby did it, but I was not obligated by duty to Clarke as Abby was to her partner. If Clarke and I had been partners, promised to each other, at the mountain, my duty to my people could not have overswayed her claim. 

Clarke kept talking, and while some part of me was enraptured on every word she said, of a friend she called Wells who she played a game called chess with, another part of me was terrified, and I sat stiffly in the saddle. What if I was once again forced to choose between Clarke and my people? I could not stand to do it- it hurt me as much as it hurt Clarke, and then hurt me more to see her pain. So, you see, even being the silly eyeless journal that you are, that in one day I was warned twice by circumstances to tell Clarke of my feelings. 

Clarke ste the hodnes gon ai sonraun, em ste time kom see taim ai laik Clarke’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You can't blame me for the Harry Potter Reference, those of you that thought of Tom Riddle's diary when Lexa talked of "pouring her soul in a diary" and asking it questions. My friend ProbablyRisian and I are co-authoring a Harry Potter Clexa crossover fic, so if you need more Clexa to fill the voids in your life [I know I always do], you could go check that out.)
> 
> Clarke ste the hodnes gon ai sonraun, em ste time kom see taim ai laik Clarke’s. = Clarke is the love of my life, it is time to see if I am Clarke's. 
> 
> (IDK IF ANY OF YOU ARE STILL WATCHING THE 100 BUT FUCK. I watched S3E9 today, after boycotting it for a week. I usually don't cuss, but FUCK. THEY RUINED EVERYTHING.)
> 
> please review, and ste yuj, my friends. (Stay strong)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for AO3, so any reviews would be lovely. You can also find me on Wattpad, @Leksalover  
> 


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